Chapter 13 - the bakery on fire
The tranquility of the morning was shattered at noon when Marco rushed into Adrien’s study without knocking. His face was pale, holding a encrypted radio receiver to his ear. Adrien stood up immediately, sensing the disaster before a word was spoken. Marco reported that forty minutes ago, three unidentified vehicles pulled up in front of Claire’s bakery on 4th Street. Masked men had poured gasoline across the front wooden porch and ignited it with military-grade incendiaries. The entire building—the kitchen where Claire had poured six years of her sweat and dreams, the small dining area decorated with the girls' drawings—was engulfed in infernal flames within minutes.
Claire, who was entering the hallway to fetch fresh water for the girls, overheard Marco’s frantic report. The porcelain pitcher slipped from her hands, shattering on the marble floor into a hundred sparkling shards. Water soaked into her shoes as she stood frozen, her face drained of all color. She dropped to her knees in despair. That bakery was not merely a business; it was her sanctuary, the sole proof that she could raise her three daughters independently without begging for help from anyone. It represented her freedom, her dignity, and her sanctuary from the terrifying world Adrien belonged to.
Adrien moved across the room in a blur, kneeling beside her on the wet floor and gathering her into his arms. Claire wept bitterly against his shoulder, her chest heaving as she struck his chest with her small fists, crying out that his dangerous world had finally consumed the only clean thing she had left. She accused his past of hunting them down, declaring that no matter where they hid, his enemies would burn everything she built until nothing remained but ash. Adrien held her tightly, absorbing her grief and anger without a single word of defense, his own heart breaking into pieces.
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When her tears subsided into quiet shudders, Adrien gently wiped her face with his thumb. He looked into her eyes with an intensity that burned hotter than any fire. He swore on his life, on his soul, and on the memory of his ancestors that he would personally rebuild her bakery. He promised that it would not be a modest rental shop on a side street, but the grandest establishment in Chicago, built with solid stone and reinforced steel, bearing her name across the main boulevard. He assured her that no enemy would ever touch a single brick of her dream again, because he would utterly eradicate every threat that dared to look in her direction.
Standing nearby near the conservatory doorway, Lily, Sophie, and Emma watched their parents in solemn silence. Lily stepped forward, taking her mother’s trembling hand, while Emma handed Claire a small stuffed bear. Sophie opened her pink notebook, drew a thick black line across a page labeled "Bad Guys," and declared in a sharp, determined voice that they would help daddy catch whoever burned the lemon tarts. Adrien looked at his daughters, feeling a fierce, roaring protective fire awaken deep within his soul. He called Marco over and issued a ruthless command: locate every syndicate lieutenant connected to the Vance family in the city, lock down every trade route, and prepare for an all-out war.
